#knee instability

[winterslonelysoldier]

God. Fuck. Kill me. I need actually knee braces that will actually support me. I need my knees to stop hyperextending. I need support for the instability. I need something that will actually support my weight so I don't have to constantly offload it onto everything else around me. But I can't afford anything, I can't afford even the Walmart braces, let alone the good braces I know I need. Fuck being disabled. I hate my joint instability. I hate having a connective tissue disorder. I hate being broke as fuck. I need moneyyyy.

[zebrasbazaar]

Update I probably could have added months ago...

Result: There's no cartilage left in there. If my other knee was sound (which it isn't) and if I didn't have EDS, they would give me a knee replacement. So, I might get to review my braces (but I missed the appt as I had 'flu) but I've not heard back to rearrange... so it's a case of carry on with over the counter pain relief as needed until it gets worse, then possibly stronger pain meds and injections until they have to risk a replacement (which has a worse prognosis in EDS patients.

So far, I'm managing (with only one crutch too, since my shoulder went out! 😅). C'mon glitchy bod. You can do it.

I had the yearly rheumatology check-up I should have had in April yesterday (it's November). I was told I need an MRI on my knee (which subluxates even in a brace whilst using crutches) and that I'd have to wait 6 weeks. Then I get a phonecall saying they can fit me in next week. Did they rush it through? Why?

Dear right knee, just how bad are you? You make me forget you're hypermobile and arthritic sometimes and then others, refuse to bend (or straighten) and complain when I ask you to just bear my weight. Ok, a little more weight than would be ideal but not way off the mark.

Seriously though, I wouldn't be surprised if they refer me for surgery. The brace isn't enough. My left knee isn't great either but one at a time, just one at a time.

[halinski]

.

[robinsnest2111]

...my knee still hurts like hell. sure do hope it's just the post twist sprain/bruising and it'll eventually go back to normal...

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

my knees have been wiggly lately. Cease at once. You're not supposed to move side to side like that.

[deadrlngers]

okay let's speak hypothetically here. i know eldritch blast has a disadvantage if you cast it too close to the enemy etc etc but let's think for a moment, let's pretend for the sake of fucked upness and joy of slaughter that i'm thinking of smth, thinking of violante doing some shit like interrogation or simply enjoying being a little evil and has in her clutches the head of some poor soul on their knees in front of her asking for their life to be spared and a icy wicked dolor slips from her lips and she blows up the poor soul's head in an explosion of blood and other red goo and the companions are all looking at her with the most disgusted expression ever and she's covered in blood and isn't bothered by it and. idk what was my point here anyways hypothetically speaking i'm brainstorming smth i want to write

[consider-your-potatoes-mashed]

Okay so I’m heading back to school after spring break and my trip was AMAZING like seriously I loved it but wow I’m in so much pain now from everything we did. I had rest time and most days were laid back but damn even still. I made the mistake of bringing neither my crutches nor my braces with me because I thought they’d be a nuisance rather than helpful but I have definitely come to realize that any potential level of nuisance-ery is far less than the helpfullness of them. I hopefully won’t make that mistake again.

On another note screw the stairs you have to take up to a plane sometimes. Those are so wobbly and steep and long. And oh my my knees wanted to CRY.

[lclthlcved]

Kinda. Glad I'm taking a break.

Still hope everyone is doing ok. Um...yeah I'll be on discord if anyone needs me. Working on my campaign or like. Idk. Less all of. This happening on the dash rn

[drchristophedelongsblog]

What is chronic knee pain?

Chronic knee pain can be caused by a multitude of factors, ranging from natural cartilage wear to more specific injuries. Here are some of the most common causes:

* Osteoarthritis of the knee: This is the progressive wearing away of the cartilage covering the ends of the knee bones. It is one of the most common causes of chronic knee pain, especially in the elderly.

* Tendonitis: Inflammation of the tendons around the knee, such as the patella or patellar tendon, can cause pain.

* Meniscus damage: The meniscus is the shock-absorbing cartilage in the knee. A tear or lesion can lead to pain and stiffness.

* Patellofemoral syndrome: Often called “jumper's knee”, this syndrome is due to misalignment of the patella. It causes pain in the front of the knee.

* Other causes: Poorly-healed fractures, inflammatory diseases (such as rheumatoid arthritis), infections and circulation problems can also cause chronic knee pain.

What are the symptoms?

Symptoms can vary depending on the cause of the pain, but often include:

* Persistent pain: Pain may be constant or appear during specific activities.

* Swelling: The knee may feel swollen and warm to the touch.

* Stiffness: Difficulty bending or fully extending the knee.

* Instability: A “loose knee” sensation.

How can chronic knee pain be relieved and treated?

Treatment will depend on the underlying cause. It may include :

* Rest: Avoid activities that aggravate pain.

* Ice: Apply ice to the knee to reduce inflammation.

* Medication: Non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs can help relieve pain and inflammation.

* Physiotherapy: Specific exercises can strengthen the muscles around the knee and improve mobility.

* Orthotics: A knee brace can help stabilize the joint.

* Injections: Corticosteroid injections can reduce inflammation in some cases.

* Surgery: In more severe cases, surgery may be required.

Go further

[dykebluejay]

shoulder feels like it’s in the wrong place and needs to make a mighty crunch but i keep trying and it just makes weak little clicks and feeling more and more tight and hurting. help! i have joints 👎

[just-a-pot-of-frogs]

I’m gonna make poll cus I thought was normal

okay, so, apparently your kneecaps shouldn’t be able to be moved around a lot or side to side, and if it can do that, it can be indicative of instability in those joints.

i can and always have moved my kneecaps around whenever i’m bored or just randomly, especially side to side.

this is a very fun (not, but useful at least) discovery.

[zarnzarn]

Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

[bobasbn]

a flame that ignited fire (2)

1.6k words again | Sylus achieved his goal and is finally having a daughter but now he must deal with his wife's pregnancy cravings. Read part one <- here

-

“Are you alright, my love? Is the pillow fluffed up to your liking? Should I get you some snacks? Do you want anything else?” Sylus asks you profusely. He’s been nothing but attentive and worrisome ever since you were confirmed to actually be pregnant. 

Sylus was driven to tears when you showed him a positive pregnancy test after all his effort to convince you that a baby is just what you two need. It’s been six months since then, you haven’t gotten the chance to even feel any discomfort without Sylus swooping in and pampering you with every available resource he has. 

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” you say with a smile. You hold onto Sylus’s hand, your thumb gently turning the wedding band on his finger. All you wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch a movie but your husband refused to let you move without him preparing the couch for your maximum comfort. 

Sylus lowers himself to his knees in front of the couch, resting his elbows up right beside you. His eyes have been carrying a certain sparkle to them lately, an undeniable softness has been gracing his features, reminiscent of the way he looked at Riley when he realised that the baby wasn’t afraid of him. 

“I’ve been having the tendency to be… overbearing,” Sylus admits sheepishly. His hand raises to smooth your hair back in a soothing manner. “Just tell me if you need me to just shut up and leave you alone.” He reminds you. He’s more than aware of his new habit of pampering you to an almost overwhelming degree sometimes. It’s endearing for the most part except for the select few times where your mood was naturally sour due to the pregnancy and you had chided Sylus for not giving you space. 

“You know I will,” you joke, admiring the way Sylus has been stealing your pregnancy glow. You definitely envy it, the way his skin has been glowing and eyes glistening. You always thought it was the pregnant lady who was supposed to have that shine laid upon her skin, not her husband who is far too elated to be a father. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. He never fails to remind you of that either. “My precious girls.” Sylus gently rubs his hand over your pregnancy bump. Along with being driven to tears once he found out you were pregnant, his waterworks started up again when you found out you were going to have a daughter. You swear he’s been bearing the larger half of the emotional instability and moodiness between you two. 

A girl is exactly what you were wishing for. The idea of giving Sylus a daughter that will melt down his tough exterior and bring out this vulnerable side like this is heartwarming. 

Sylus stayed home because he was feeling worried after you had expressed your discomfort in your lower back. He prepared hot water bottles, fluffed up all your pillows and catered to your every request. 

“Aren’t you tired? You’ve been awake all day,” you ask Sylus as you climb back into bed. After an adventurous day of laying on the couch on this bright weekend, you’re back in bed. 

“Truthfully, I’m a little fatigued. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle,” Sylus says, but he’s already sitting up in bed with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes look like they’ll fall shut at any moment now. 

You fix the blanket over your body. You’re just about to say something back to Sylus but when you look back at him, he’s already snoozing away. You can’t help but chuckle. Of course he pretended as if staying up all day didn’t bother him at all. 

You relish in the moment of silence that lulls you to sleep in the peaceful atmosphere of the room. 

In the early hours of the morning, about 4am, you’re jolted awake by your own senses. 

You were feeling warmer even though the temperature of the room hasn’t changed. A sudden itch prickles around your abdomen and you feel some discomfort from the position you ended up in while sleeping. You lean over to turn the lamp on your bedside table on, feeling yourself involuntarily becoming more awake. To top it all off, you have a hunger for something cold. Cold, sweet and fruity, slightly floral. You smack your lips, noticing that your husband isn’t up and around like he usually would be at this time. 

Despite not abiding by his usual sleep schedule, he’s still an incredibly light sleeper and his scarlet eyes are soon open and adjusting to the dim lighting. 

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?” He husks, his deep voice almost inaudible from just waking up. He stretches his arms out, his muscles flexing as he props himself up. 

“I’m not feeling good,” you admit. Sylus immediately becomes alert. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m hot, I’m itchy, uncomfortable and I want blueberry lavender ice cream,” you list out your issues. Your husband’s fingers touch your cheeks, noting the slight warmth to them. 

“Blueberry lavender ice cream? Where would I find that at… 4 in the morning?” He inquires out loud, already planning on how he’ll fulfill your craving at this ungodly hour. 

You shrug your shoulders, your mind running a bit too rampant about all the negative things you’re experiencing and not caring at all for the new quandary you’ve imposed on your husband. He gently rubs your back as you stiffly sit up, your joints feeling as if there’s something jammed between the sockets. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sylus assures. His tiredness from just a moment ago disappears in a blink as he walks out of the room. Soon enough he comes back and props a hot water bottle behind your back and adjusts your pillow to make you more comfortable. 

“Ice cream…” You mutter, clutching to the fabric of his shirt. The more you were awake, the more you craved the cold, sugary treat. You felt as if you would die without the ice cream you desire, like your stomach will simply twist up and kill you. 

“Of course,” he responds and immediately nods his head. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple before heading out on his exploration for ice cream, specifically blueberry lavender ice cream which isn’t just found anywhere. Sylus has never run so fast in his life for something so trivial as ice cream. He knows he’s on limited time but the task isn’t an easy one, and every convenience store he stops by doesn’t have this specific flavour. 

You rest your head against the pillow supporting your neck, shifting a bit as you absentmindedly rub your hand over your pregnancy bump. This daughter of yours is already giving you such a hard time before she’s even been born. She already has her father running mindlessly through the streets to fulfill her every whim. 

Half an hour goes by and your cravings do not settle at all. If anything, they’re growing stronger. You try to distract yourself with your phone but everything is swirling into blue and purples hues, breaking into mosaics and forming the image of blueberry and lavender in your mind. It’s driving you insane. 

The door almost breaks down when Sylus makes his return and he immediately starts making a big clatter downstairs which catches your attention. You tried to ignore it for the first few minutes but your curiosity grew to know if he ended up getting the ice cream or not. You muster up all the strength you can to push yourself off the bed and you pad downstairs curiously to see what your husband is up to. 

To your surprise, when you enter the kitchen you’re met with the sight of Sylus handling an ice cream machine. A violet mixture churns in the machine, looking like the product of all your wishes right now. 

“You’re making ice cream?” You lean your head against his arm, earning a kiss on the head from him. 

“I couldn’t find it anywhere. But, fresh ingredients will taste much better,” Sylus says calmly. He had gone ahead and bought the raw ingredients just to make the ice cream you want at home. Despite being married to him for a significant amount of time, he still finds ways to make your heart melt. 

You watch the ice cream being mixed for a few more minutes before he opens the lid to get a peek of the creation inside. You couldn’t resist swiping a finger through the smooth cream, taking a taste and your body instantly rests as you do. All the senses in your mind that were screaming for blueberry lavender ice cream were silenced the moment you finally got access to the fruitful, floral treat. 

“Yes, this is it,” you nod. Even though the ice cream wasn’t set, it was calling your name. You served yourself a large bowl with every drop of the ice cream that Sylus made for you. You brought the bowl back to bed with you, your husband following behind closely like a puppy making sure that this was enough to satiate your craving. 

“Is it good, sweetheart?” He asks. You hold up a spoonful of the ice cream to his mouth, it’s more cream than ice. He takes a bite, eyebrows raising with delight. 

“I’ve been waiting my entire life for this,” you murmur. You hog the rest of the bowl, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into your mouth as your husband watches with a sense of admiration for you. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he gently taps his finger against your nose. His eyes flit down to your belly. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he whispers, his eyes full of wonder. He wouldn’t get annoyed even if he had to fly to the ends of the Earth to satisfy your cravings. It all didn’t matter as long as he was helping you feel better, and that he was getting closer everyday to meeting his daughter. 

He was already ready to give up everything to take care of you two, his girls, his entire world. You two were definitely going to be spoiled rotten by Sylus. 

-

[honeyncherry]

secret of us IV - joe burrow

summary tick tock joe, your time is running out. you'd better make your move before she slips away for good

content angst, swearing, slow burn

part three ; next

For as long as he can recall, Joe has always been a victim of Impostor Syndrome. No matter how many accolades he earned or how many times he proved himself, it was never enough. The feeling stayed, an insistent voice that whispered he didn’t belong. That he wasn’t enough. It crept into the moments that should have felt triumphant, dulling their shine, leaving him wondering when the world would realize he was just faking it more than not.

Love, he’d always thought, was the same. Not him, not something he deserved. How could it be when he was constantly battling the belief that he wasn’t enough. Not good enough, not selfless enough, not strong enough to hold on to something as rare as love? He’d convinced himself he was too flawed, too guarded, and too consumed by the weight of his own insecurities to ever be someone’s safe haven.

He believed love deserved someone who wasn’t afraid of it, someone who wouldn’t ruin it just by trying to hold on too tightly.

​​With a life that’s always been marked by transience — teammates who came and went, fans whose loyalty burned bright but faded just as quickly, and moments of glory that felt fleeting the second the final whistle blew, Joe had learned to live with uncertainty. The instability of it all only reinforced his doubts, leaving him convinced that nothing good ever stayed. Not for long. Not for him.

It was a quiet ache, the kind that didn’t scream or demand attention but lingered in the corners of his mind. He’d felt it since he was young, though he couldn’t name it then. It was the echo of his mom’s laughter when she thought he wasn’t listening, the way his dad’s hand would rest on his shoulder after a tough game. It was fleeting gestures, not foundations. And maybe that was the problem: he didn’t know how to believe in something that wouldn’t slip away.

But then you came around.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment you became different, no single flashpoint where everything shifted. Maybe it was that first week at OSU, when you sat beside him on a ratty couch at a teammate’s house party.

He’d been perched on the edge of the couch, nursing a drink he didn’t want, his knee bouncing with restless energy. The party felt too loud, too crowded, like he was watching from behind a pane of glass instead of being part of it. Then you sat down beside him, close enough that your leg brushed his.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” you’d said, your voice loud enough to cut through the music but soft enough to feel like a secret.

Startled, he’d glanced at you, unsure how to respond. “Not really my scene,” he finally admitted, his voice low and uncertain.

You’d laughed, a bright, easy sound that made his shoulders drop a fraction. “Same. My friends dragged me here against my will.” You paused, your eyes scanning the room as if you were searching for a way out. Joe thought that might be the end of it, just another fleeting exchange.

But then you straightened up, turning toward him with a curious tilt of your head. “Want to get some air?”

He didn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him, like you weren’t judging him for feeling out of place. Or maybe it was because, for the first time since arriving on campus, he felt like he’d found someone worth knowing. Not his roommate, who was overly eager about sharing a room with someone on the team. Not even his teammates, who barely acknowledged him off the field.

That night, sitting with you on the back steps of the house, talking about anything and everything, felt like the first time in ages he could just breathe.

That was the first thread.

Then there was the aftermath of the 2020 game against Clemson. The field was a frenzy. Players shouting, confetti raining down like a golden storm, and fans roaring from the stands. Reporters swarmed coaches and teammates, microphones jostling for space, cameras snapping endlessly. It was chaos, beautiful and overwhelming.

The National Championship. They’d done it. He’d done it.

Joe let out a shaky laugh, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair as a teammate clapped him hard on the back. His body felt like it had been through a war, bruised and battered, but he barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, numbing the aches. This was it. The moment he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. Yet, standing in the middle of the confetti-strewn field, it still didn’t feel entirely real.

Reporters pushed toward him, but their questions blurred into static. He answered on autopilot, the words coming easily. Praise the team. Credit the coaches. Downplay his own role. He meant every word, but beneath it all was a flicker of something else. A nagging itch he hadn’t been able to shake all day.

You weren’t here.

You’d called a few days before, your voice every bit apologetic. “It’s a family wedding, Joe. I hate missing this, but I’ll be glued to ESPN, screaming at every play. You’re going to kill it.”

He’d smiled through the phone, forcing himself to sound unaffected. “It’s fine. You’ve got stuff to do.”

But it wasn’t fine to him. Not really. He knew it was selfish, knew he should’ve been grateful you even cared enough to tell him beforehand. But the thought still crept in uninvitedly. You’d been there for so many games, cheering him on with that unwavering support that he didn’t always know how to handle. And now, at the biggest moment of his career, you weren’t.

He swallowed the thought, trying to shake the disappointment. The crowd was still chanting, the cameras still flashing, and the night was far from over. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it.

But then, as he glanced toward the edge of the field, something caught his eye.

At first, it was just a glimpse — a flash of familiarity near the barricade. His eyes caught on the figure for a moment before darting away, his chest tightening instinctively. No, it couldn’t be. It was just the uproar messing with his head, the exhaustion playing tricks on him.

But it plagued him, begging for his attention.

Joe hesitated.

What if he was wrong? What if it wasn’t you? The thought made his stomach twist, disappointment threatening to creep in yet again before he could stop it. He told himself to let it go, to focus on the celebration. But he stood frozen in place.

Against his better judgment, he turned fully toward the sight, his heart thudding in his chest.

And there you were.

Standing near the barricade, mid-conversation with a friend, your profile unmistakable under the glow of the stadium lights. His breath caught, the air rushing out of his lungs like he’d been tackled. It was you.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind scrambling to catch up. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. You had obligations. You’d told him yourself. 

And yet, here you were, real and undeniable as if the universe had decided to drop you into the middle of his mayhem just to remind him you were always there when it mattered most.

Your friend nudged you, pointing in his direction. You turned, eyes meeting his from across the distance.

The moment stretched, a fragile thread holding the two of you in place.

Then you smiled, a soft, warming smile that seemed to slow the madness around him. His chest tightened, the thrum of his pulse roaring in his ears as his breath caught. He watched as you lifted your hand, fingers curling into a small, hesitant wave. The gesture felt delicate, almost cautious, as if you were feeling your way through the moment, unsure of how he might react.

Joe felt frozen, his legs rooted in the turf, but everything inside him surged forward.

You were here.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving. The reporters were focused on the coaches, giving him a chance to slip away unnoticed. His legs felt heavy, his body sore, but none of that mattered. He jogged toward you, the noise of the stadium fading with every step.

When he reached the barricade, he didn’t think twice. He leaned over and pulled you into his arms, his face burying into the curve of your neck.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice crackled with emotion.

“Of course I am,” you said, words muffled as you held him just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He pulled back slightly, hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes searched your face. “You lied about the wedding?”

A mischievous grin spread across your face, one that made his heart skip a beat. “Maybe. I thought a surprise would be more fun.”

Joe laughed, a sound that was part disbelief and part relief, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, just for you.

Before he could say more, he felt a strong arm hook around his waist.

“Burrow! Come on, man!” Ja’Marr cheered, tugging him back toward the crowd. Joe reluctantly let go of you, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll find you later,” he grinned quickly, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

As he was dragged back into the chaos, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, searching for you in the crowd. You were still standing there, watching him with a smile that made everything else melt away.

The noise, the confetti, the cameras, it all felt secondary. Because in that moment, to Joe, the championship wasn’t just about the trophy or the victory.

It was about you. The way you were there for him. Every. Single. Time.

That thread was golden.

Or maybe it was later, on those long nights during his rookie year with the Bengals. When the weight of expectations pressed heavy on his chest and your voice on the other end of the line was the only thing that could keep him grounded.

He remembered one night in particular. The season had been brutal thus far, each game feeling like another test he wasn’t sure he could pass. He’d spent the day running drills, analyzing film, and listening to coaches dissect every decision he’d made on and off the field. By the time he got home, his house felt suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that left him alone with his doubts.

He’d called you without thinking, the phone pressed tightly to his ear as he finally took a second to sit down. “I feel like I’m drowning,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice faltered in a way he hadn’t meant for you to hear, betraying just how close he was to breaking. 

You didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not drowning, Joe,” you said, your voice steady and sure. “You’re just in deep water. You know how to swim.”

He let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “A swimming reference? Really? What am I, Phelps?” he asked, half-smirking, half-expecting you to laugh it off.

“Yeah, I am,” you shot back, unfazed. “Because it’s true. You’re a better swimmer than you give yourself credit for.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he sank deeper into the couch. “What if I forgot how?” he played along, the doubt still clinging to his words.

“Then I’ll jump in after you,” you replied, the words so calm and certain that they made him pause. At first, he thought you were joking, but the conviction in your tone made his head spin. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to process what you’d just said.

It wasn’t the first time someone had offered support. Though, oftentimes, it felt hollow coming from them. People would praise him then turn their backs and mock him when he wasn’t looking. But with you, it was different. Your belief in him didn’t feel fake or conditional. It felt real, unshakable and right in a way that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“Why are you so sure I’ll figure it out?” he’d asked, his voice softer now, the pressure loosening just enough to let him breathe.

“Because you’re you,” you said simply. “And I’ve never known you to back down from anything. Even if you feel like you’re sinking now, you’ll get through it. You always do.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he closed his eyes and let your voice wash over him as you started talking about your day — little things like the mix-up at the printing machine that morning or the neighbor who’d just adopted a cat. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but it was exactly what he needed. Enough to pull him out of his head, enough to ease the tension in his body and mind until he could finally sit still.

This was the thread that held everything together.

Joe had, overall, always been good at keeping things in their place. It’s what made him excel under pressure, what allowed him to keep his head when everything around him spun out of control. But you? You blurred the lines. You seeped into the cracks he’d worked so hard to seal, and he hated you for it almost as much as he loved you for it.

It took him years to understand it. Years of standing too close yet not close enough, of watching you steal his hoodies and tease him about his game-day routines, of feeling your hand brush his arm in ways that left his skin tingling long after. Years of telling himself it was just friendship, because anything else felt too big, too dangerous.

And then it hit him.

It wasn’t a revelation that came in a rush or a sudden burst of clarity. It crept in slowly, like the tide pulling back just enough to reveal what had always been there. Joe loved you. He’d loved you for longer than he could admit to himself. And the weight of it? It was crushing.

He was always terrified of losing control, of letting his emotions dictate his decisions. Football demanded a sort of precision: discipline so ruthless it bordered on obsession, a singular focus that left no room for distractions or vulnerability. Every play, every moment on the field, required him to suppress the nagging sentiments inside, to bury the doubts and emotions that had built up over the years and threatened to surface.

Anything less than perfect control felt like weakness, and weakness wasn’t something he could afford. Not on the field. Not off it. 

But you? You were the exception. The one thing he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.

Joe thought about the night you’d shown up at his house, your voice trembling as you demanded answers he wasn’t ready to give. The way your eyes searched his, raw and pleading, left him feeling more exposed than he’d ever been on any field. He’d wanted to tell you then. He wanted to reach for you, pull you close, and let the words spill out in an unstoppable manner.

But he froze. The fear clawing at his chest was too strong to ignore. Fear of ruining what you had. Fear of being too much, or worse, not enough. Fear of you seeing the parts of him he’d worked so hard to bury. The parts that weren’t perfect or polished. The parts that felt fragile in a way he couldn’t admit, even to himself.

So now, sitting in his car outside the bar, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached, he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn��t keep running from this, from you. It wasn’t just about the guilt — though that was part of it. It was about the pain of your absence, the way it haunted him in ways he couldn’t ignore.

​​The sound of Drew’s voice echoed, dragging him back to earlier that day.

The call started off casual… until Drew’s tone shifted mid-sentence.

“Oh, yeah, we’re hitting that new bar tonight—” Drew began, only for Mia’s voice to cut in sharply from the background. “Drew!”

Joe frowned, catching the muffled sound of Mia hissing something he couldn’t make out. There was a pause, the sound of rustling, and then Drew’s voice returned, noticeably higher-pitched and nervous. “Uh, never mind. It’s not important.”

“What bar?” Joe asked, the question coming out sharper than he intended.

“It’s nothing, man,” Drew said quickly, his words tripping over themselves. “Just a thing Claire planned. Don’t worry about it.”

Joe’s brows furrowed, his grip on his phone tightening. “A thing? You’re being weird, Drew.”

“I’m not being weird!” Drew replied too fast. “Just… you know how the girls get when they’re planning stuff. Look, I've gotta go, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Joe staring at the screen, unease prickling at him. Drew was hiding something. He was sure of it.

Later, after hours of the conversation looping endlessly in his mind, Joe finally bit the bullet and texted Drew.

Joe: What’s going on with this bar thing? Don’t lie to me.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Joe’s stomach churned as the seconds dragged on. Finally, a response came through.

Drew: It’s nothing serious. Just a casual thing.

Joe’s jaw clenched as he stared at the message. He tapped out a reply.

Joe: Who’s going?

Another long pause.

Drew: Me, Mia, Claire, Lily. A few others.

The answer was too vague, and Joe knew Drew well enough to recognize when he was dodging. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

Joe: Is she going?

The reply came faster this time.

Drew: Yeah. I think so.

He exhaled slowly, a knot forming in his stomach as the next question pressed forward, almost on instinct.

Joe: Why wouldn’t Mia want me to know?

Yet again, the typing bubble appeared, vanished, and then reappeared, as if mocking him with its cruel, drawn-out rhythm. Each second stretched unbearably until Drew’s response finally arrived.

Drew: Claire’s bringing some guy to meet her.

Joe stared at the screen. The words blurred as his mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through his head, none of them good.

Joe: What guy?

Drew: I don’t know. Just some friend of hers. She’s been hyping him up for a while.

Joe: You knew about this?

Drew: Not really. Mia didn’t tell me much. She didn’t want you to find out.

His thoughts spiraled, building into a picture he didn’t want to see but couldn’t ignore. He read it again, the weight of the implication sinking in.

That’s all it took.

Now, sitting in the quiet of his car, Joe leaned back against the headrest, his eyes slipping shut as memories crept in. Your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing like it belonged to the very fabric of the room. The nights you’d sat cross-legged on his couch, the furrow in your brow deepening as you stubbornly argued over which movie to watch — maddening, yet somehow the one of the most endearing things about you. And the way you’d looked at him, your gaze piercing, like you could see straight through every boundary he’d ever built.

It wasn’t new. None of it was. He’d always loved you. He could see that now, clear as day, and it had taken him far too long to accept it. Joe saw no point in fighting the pull of something that felt as natural as breathing.

The thought of walking into that bar, of seeing you standing there with someone else, made his head hurt in ways he didn’t want to explain. But it wasn’t just jealousy that drove him now. It wasn’t just the idea of someone else holding the space he wanted so desperately to claim. It was deeper than that.

It was the need to stop running. To tell you everything. Lay it all bare and let you decide what comes next, because the idea of losing you, not just as a possibility but as a certainty — was unbearable.

If he didn’t go in now, if he let this moment slip through his fingers, he knew he’d never forgive himself.

Joe opened his eyes, exhaling slowly as he reached for the door handle. The weight in his chest didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. For the first time in a long time, he felt grounded in who he was.

Because this time, he wasn’t running.

Joe entered the bar, weaving his way through as the crowd shifted and broke around him, creating a path he barely noticed. His mind raced with everything he wanted to say, but had no idea how to begin. 

He found his friends easily, and when he reached the table, the tension was immediate, a heavy cloud settling over the group.

Mia noticed first. Her expression softened, a mix of pity and quiet concern etched into her features. Drew, on the other hand, couldn’t even meet Joe’s gaze for more than a second. His back straightened like he’d been caught sneaking out past curfew, staring intently at his drink like it might save him from the confrontation brewing. Claire didn’t bother hiding her displeasure, her glare vicious. Predictably, she was the first to speak.

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

Joe didn’t even look at her. His focus was locked on Drew, the words tumbling out. “Where is she?”

Drew hesitated, glancing nervously at Mia, who gave him a pointed look that said; You got yourself into this. “Uh…” Drew stammered. “She’s at the bar.”

Joe didn’t wait for more. He turned on his heel, his movements purposeful as he wove back through the crowd toward the bar. Behind him, he could hear Claire muttering something under her breath, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was you.

And when Joe spotted you, he stopped just short of the bar, his eyes narrowing. You stood with one hand resting lightly on the counter, nodding at something the guy next to you was saying. Your lips curved into a faint smile, head tilted slightly, but something was off.

From a distance it might’ve looked like you were interested, though, Joe noticed the way your gaze drifted. Your tight-lipped smile didn’t reach your eyes and your attention flickered away, glancing toward the bottles behind the counter as if they were more interesting than the guy next to you. You were looking for a way out.

Joe shifted his weight, his attention snapping to the guy. He was… average. Polished in a way that felt like he was trying too hard. Neatly pressed shirt, carefully styled hair, and a smile that bordered on overconfident. Joe felt his jaw tighten. This is the guy Claire thinks you should be with? This is who she thinks is worth your time?

As he stopped just behind you, the guy’s voice drifted over. Something about the lighting in the bar, or maybe the music. It was mundane, predictable, and Joe smirked. He wasn’t surprised you weren’t invested. Of course you’re bored, he thought. This guy’s got the personality of a waiting room.

Joe tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he caught the guy’s words falter mid-sentence. He hadn’t even spoken yet, but his presence alone was already throwing the guy. Before Joe could step closer, you turned, your gaze following the guy’s faltering focus.

And then you saw him.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a fleeting second, everything else seemed to fall silent. Joe paused as he took in the way your expression shifted. Surprise, confusion, something else he couldn’t quite place. He held your gaze, unflinching, his jaw tight as he tried to dissect the emotions screening across your face.

The soft glow of the bar lights cast a warm halo around you, catching in your hair and highlighting the faint furrow in your brow. Your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, but no words came.

Joe didn’t speak either, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours, the unspoken tension crackling between you like a live wire.

He let the moment stretch, another faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He finally stepped to your side, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise that ebbed back in. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, his tone smooth and laced with just enough edge to make his authority known.

His gaze flicked briefly to the guy before landing back on you. “Sounded like a real captivating conversation.”

The guy shifted uneasily, clearing his throat but offering no reply.

You? You just stared up at Joe, wide-eyed and silence.

For a moment, the world held its breath, leaving only the three of you in this precarious, unbalanced triangle.

Joe? Joe wasn’t about to let the balance tip away from him.

The turned toward Joe, the strain in his polite smile visible. “Uh… can I help you with something?”

Joe barely looked at him. “Not unless you plan on leaving,” he said, his attention fixing entirely on you once more. He didn’t miss the glint of something different in your eyes — annoyance, perhaps, or was it relief? His voice dropped, leaning just close enough for you to hear over the noise.

“We need to talk.”

You hesitated, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of the bartop. “Now?”

Joe nodded, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Yeah. Now.”

You glanced briefly at the guy, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, maybe intervene. But Joe’s glare sliced through whatever courage he might have been mustering. He thought twice, shoulders stiffening as his hands lifted in a silent gesture of surrender.

With a small nod — whether it was understanding or reluctant resignation, Joe couldn’t be sure — the guy stepped back and turned, making his way through the crowd toward the table where the others sat. Joe caught a brief glimpse of Mia’s unsure frown and Drew’s poorly concealed grimace, but he didn’t pay mind to them.

He didn’t care.

His focus was locked entirely on you.

“Let’s go,” he said.

You hesitated, glancing between him and the group at the table. “But, Joe—”

“Now,” he repeated, cutting you off. There was no bite in his tone, but the urgency was impossible to ignore.

Without another word, Joe reached for your wrist. His touch was firm but not rough as he turned toward the exit, his grip guiding you to the exit. You followed without protest, your steps quickening to keep pace with his long strides.

Joe caught the faint shiver that passed through you the moment the cool night air hit your faces. He didn’t stop, didn’t loosen his grip on your wrist, but his stride slowed just enough for you to keep up.

The rowdiness of the bar gradually faded behind you, replaced by the whir of traffic and the occasional burst of muffled laughter from people on the streets. Joe kept moving, leading you past the glowing streetlamps and the lingering smokers, until he turned sharply into a narrow alleyway.

As soon as he stopped, he let go of your wrist, stepping back as if to put space between his own chaotic emotions and you. The alley was dim, the faint light from a singular light nearby casting jagged shadows against the brick walls. Joe faced you, his shoulders rigid, jaw set. His lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately.

“Well?” you demanded, your voice clipped. “You dragged me out here. Are you going to say something, or should I just head back?”

Joe’s brow furrowed, the bite in your tone stinging more than it should have. He exhaled hard through his nose, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his otherwise steady demeanor. “Why were you with him?”

“Why do you care?” you fired back, chin lifting.

“I asked first.” His voice was short now, mirroring yours.

“And I’m asking why it matters,” you countered, your head tilting slightly as you took a step closer.

“Because it does!” The words came out harsher than he intended, bouncing off the narrow walls of the alley. His hand dragged through his hair, tugging at the roots in a futile attempt to soothe the building headache. “It matters because I couldn’t stand seeing you with him. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your eyes widened, your weight shifting as if the force of his words had pushed you back. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t stand it’? Since when do you care who I’m with?”

Joe glanced away, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought the impulse to retreat. His hands flexed at his sides, the memory of the guy’s too-eager grin still gnawing at the edges of his self-control. “Since always,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You scoffed, the sound disbelieving as you shook your head. “That’s a convenient thing to say now.”

The bitterness in your voice hit like a low blow. Joe flinched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as the frustration boiled over. 

He paused. “Just… seeing you with him tonight—” His voice wavered, the words stalling as if they physically pained him to say. His breath hitched, each syllable dragging itself out, “I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your arms loosened slightly, the edge in your expression and voice easing enough to make him pause. “Ignore what, Joe?”

The words hung unavoidably in the silence between you. Joe’s eyes lifted to meet yours, searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to give. Vulnerability clawed at him, splintering the guarded facade he’d clung to so desperately — but there was no point in hiding anymore.

“Joe,” you prompted again, this time so softly it was almost a whisper.

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against the faint edge of your crossed arms. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice lower now, tainted with desperation. His arms twitched, like they wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “Tell me it doesn’t matter to you. Tell me you want to go back to him, to anyone, and I’ll walk away. But if it’s not him, if there’s even the smallest part of you that feels—” His voice broke slightly, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “Just say it. Please.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Joe’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his lungs feeling tight as if he’d forgotten how to breathe, the seconds stretching unbearably. Then, slowly, you shook your head, the motion subtle but certain.

“It’s not him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of relief so intense it felt like it might crush him. His pulse still hounded in his ears, but it wasn’t chaos, it was clarity.

Of course it’s not him. He’d known it before he asked, before you even shook your head. Joe knew you, and he knew that guy wasn’t you. Could never be. The realization settled inside him, carrying a flicker of hope so bright it nearly hurt to hold.

He didn’t realize he’d stumbled closer until he caught a faint whiff of your perfume, the scent pulling him in like it always did. You were so close now, he could feel the faint warmth of your breath brushing his skin.

“Okay,” Joe rasped, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat, using his hands to shake the nerves before bringing them together in front of him. His knuckles cracked softly as he flexed them, his fingers fidgeting in an unconscious rhythm. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

“Okay, wait. I— there’s something I need to say. And I’m probably going to screw it up, because that’s just what I do, but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t respond, just looked at him, waiting. Joe placed his hands on his hips, “I didn’t plan this. Hell, I didn’t even plan on being here tonight. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away. Not after Drew told me what Claire was doing. Especially not after seeing you sitting with him, talking to him.”

A bitter laugh slipped out, self-directed and harsh. “And I know, I know I don’t have any right to feel like that. I’ve been distant. A dick. Call it whatever you want. But the truth is… I couldn’t handle it. You. Us. All of it. Because every time I was near you, I felt like I was standing too close to something I didn’t know how to handle.”

Joe hesitated, his throat constricting, his next words quieter, spoken with effort. “But it wasn’t the kind of edge you run from. It was the kind you jump off. Because being around you — being near you, it’s like nothing else fits. Nothing else makes sense. And I’m so goddamn tired of pretending it’s anything else.”

He let the words settle between you, the meaning of them filling the air. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“I love you,” he said finally, the words falling between you like they’d been waiting there all along. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Maybe longer than I’ve even let myself admit. But I was too scared to say it. I was too scared of screwing it all up and losing the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Joe’s gaze stayed locked on yours, unflinching, his body tensing like he wanted to close the space between you. “But tonight, thinking of you with someone else… it hit me. I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I’m scared of not trying. Of letting you walk away without knowing how much you mean to me.”

His breath hitched, the final words trembling on his lips. “So, yeah. That’s it. That’s what I needed to say.”

The air felt heavy, thick with everything he’d just admitted. For a moment, you simply stared at him, your lips parting as if to say something, but no sound came. 

The confession curled in the air between you. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything more, as if he’d laid everything he had at your feet and was now waiting, bracing, for what you would do with it. 

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the briefest moment, he thought he caught it: a flicker of a smile, faint but unmistakable. Like maybe, just maybe, you were about to let him in. Joe’s heart jumped in anticipation.

You opened your mouth—

Flash!

The blinding light sliced through the moment, echoing through the stillness of the alleyway, leaving quiet in tatters.

Flash.

[dissociacrip]

anyway um. shoutout to disabled people who move their bodies in ways that are considered "wrong" or "abnormal" regardless of the cause or how it's classified. and this isn't limited to just ambulation.

paralysis. dystonia. gait abnormalities. people with muscle weakness and/or atrophy. people with brain damage. rotational differences. clubfoot. knocked knees. other limb and bodily differences. functional deformities that affect movement. tissue contracture. muscular dystrophies. spasticity. impaired proprioception, balance, and/or coordination. chronic pain. spinal disorders. dyspraxia/DCD. apraxia. ataxia. dystaxia. tourette's syndrome and other tic disorders. conversion symptoms. tremors. neurodegenerative disease. degenerative bone diseases. joint instability. myoclonus. parkinsonism. tardive dyskenisia. various other neurological problems.

...and the list goes on.

personally i feel a bit surreal when my body not doesn't always move in the ways i want it to because that straightforward connection that's there for abled people has been disrupted in a myriad of ways. but no one is gross, ugly, or scary for being unable to move their body in ways that society considers "normal" and "healthy." no one deserves to be gawked/stared at or treated like they're subhuman because of the way their body moves.

it's okay for us to exist.

[duvetchico]

stupid in love

summary you’re down bad for yunjin. rumors say she’s crushing on someone, and you’re losing it hoping it’s you. turns out, she’s been in love with your dumb ass the whole time.

genre fluff / humor / mutual pining / best friends to lovers / gay panic™

pairing huh yunjin x fem!reader

masterlist.

you are so fucking tired of people saying “i think yunjin has a crush.”

like ok. good for her. congrats to her and her mysterious crush. may they live happily ever after. whatever. you’re not bitter. totally unbothered. you’re just gonna lie down in traffic real quick.

because the thing is… you’ve been in love with her for, like, ever. and not in a chill way. in a “i see her tie her hair up and forget how to breathe” way. in a “she hugs me for too long and i have to physically restrain myself from proposing” kind of way.

and now everyone keeps talking about her stupid crush and you’re spiraling. if it’s not you, you’re gonna eat drywall.

“i’m just saying,” chaewon whispers one night like she’s gossiping about a celebrity scandal, “yunjin’s totally into someone. she’s been singing love songs in the shower.”

“maybe she just likes music,” you say, deadpan, already preparing to scream into a pillow later.

“she’s been smiling at her phone like a loser,” kazuha adds, sipping her tea.

you… dying. combusting. already halfway into a breakdown.

“okay cool,” you say, casually, while gripping your chopsticks like you’re about to stab someone. “good for her.”

meanwhile, yunjin walks into the room, looks at you, and goes, “hey loser,” with a grin that’s all teeth and heart-eyes.

and you? you just sit there blinking like a broken npc because holy fuck she’s so pretty and she called you loser in that tone and you're this close to kissing her out of pure emotional instability.

you’re unwell. actually.

you almost confess like. five times. every time you chicken out. flop behavior. you should be banned from having feelings.

the closest you come is during a dumb late-night kitchen moment. it’s 2:43am. you’re both standing in front of the fridge like divorced parents debating what to eat.

she’s wearing your hoodie. your hoodie. sleeves covering her hands. hair messy. half-asleep. and she’s so close.

you look at her. you open your mouth.

“i like your face,” is what you almost say.

but what actually comes out is “do you want noodles or eggs?”

yunjin blinks. “…what?”

“i said noodles. or eggs. pick one. coward.”

you don’t speak for the next thirty minutes.

everything gets worse when you see her and kazuha laughing together. they’re holding hands for some reason??? why are they touching?? why is yunjin giggling like that. why is your soul leaving your body.

you go to the bathroom and stare at your reflection like “girl be so serious rn.” you look insane. you feel insane. you’ve entered the third act of a queer romcom and it’s giving cringe.

y/n u busy? yunjin for you? never. what’s up?? y/n having an aneurysm come to the roof. i need to tell u something yunjin if u push me off i swear to god

you’re already pacing when she gets there. full gay panic. knees weak, arms spaghetti.

“yo,” she says, casually. like you’re not about to emotionally vomit all over her.

“yo,” you say back, voice cracking. excellent start.

she squints at you. “you good?”

“define good.”

“…are you dying.”

“maybe.”

you inhale. then just. let it rip.

“do you have a crush on someone?”

she blinks. “wow okay. starting strong.”

“answer the question, yunjin. this is life or death.”

she tilts her head, arms crossed. “why?”

“because i—i just. i need to know,” you say, immediately regretting this entire thing.

she stares at you. her expression shifts. softens.

she squints at you. “why? you jealous or something?”

you snort way too aggressively. “pshh. no. haha. what the fuck. who. me. jealous. lol.”

a beat of silence.

“you are jealous,” she says, grinning. “holy shit.”

“shut up,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “fuck. forget i said anything.”

“can’t. too late. it’s burned into my memory forever.”

you peek at her through your fingers. she’s just. smiling at you. all soft and amused like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. your heart does a backflip and crashes into a wall.

“…so?” you ask, muffled. “do you?”

“i do.”

you drop your hands. “oh.”

she snorts. snorts. she’s having fun. you’re dying.

“wanna know who it is?”

you freeze. “not if it’s gonna hurt my feelings.”

she leans in. leans the fuck in. you can feel her breath on your cheek. you go red instantly. like. tomato. full cherry blossom.

“it’s you,” she whispers.

you blink. once. twice.

“fuck off.”

“dead serious.”

“ME??” you screech. “ME?????????”

she laughs. “yes???”

“you’ve been singing in the shower about me???”

“you were eavesdropping???”

you grab her by the sleeves of your hoodie.

“you’ve been walking around here making me lose my entire mind for MONTHS—”

“same??? i literally thought you hated me.”

“i thought you were in love with kazuha.”

yunjin makes a face. “ew no. she’s hot but she’s like. my emotional support retriever.”

you wheeze. “i was gonna write a whole ass letter.”

“i was gonna write a song,” she retorts. “it was called ‘i think my best friend’s a hot idiot.’”

“oh my god,” you whisper. “kiss me before i jump off this roof.”

she does.

and it’s fucking perfect.

like. embarrassingly good. like years of tension melting into soft laughter and shaky hands and her lips tasting like mint and ramen and pure serotonin.

when you pull away, breathless, she grins.

“soooo,” she says, “can i call you my girlfriend now or are we still playing the 'emotionally repressed besties' game.”

“nah,” you say. “i want the title. gimme the label. say it.”

she leans in, all smug and sweet.

“mine?”

you nearly pass out.

later, you’re lying on her bed, tangled in limbs and way too many blankets. she’s scrolling through her phone while playing with your fingers like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“by the way,” she says, casually, “i still want noodles.”

“you’ll get noodles when i stop blushing.”

“so… never?”

“shut the fuck up.”

she kisses your cheek. “make me.”

you do. poorly. but she giggles anyway and pulls you closer like you’re the whole damn world.

and yeah. turns out she was crushing on you. the whole time.

turns out you were just a dumb bitch in love. but hey. so was she.

so it worked out.